Promise
by Midnight Caller
Summary: Post-ep for 5x16: Hunt. Beckett is still upset that Castle left for France without telling her or letting her help.


**A/N: A post-ep for 5x16 "Hunt." **

**Beckett is still upset that Castle left for France without telling her or letting her help him.**

**Story idea credit goes to SineTimore (u/2884245/SineTimore). This is for you.**

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"_Please don't do anything like that again without me."_

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He finds her at the bathroom sink, quietly drying her face, her movements slow and distracted as if she were miles away in thought. It's not until the heat of his hands spans her waist does she look up at him through the mirror.

"You were quiet tonight at dinner," he states softly, his thumbs making slow circles on her skin above her sleep shorts. She nods, her eyes avoiding his, and then she moves out of his reach, back into the bedroom.

Something is wrong.

"Kate."

She pauses at the side of the bed—her side—and finally turns to face him. Her arms are crossed, her teeth chewing at her bottom lip, her eyes filled with an emotion he can't quite place, but it tugs at his heart nonetheless. He's hurt her.

"Beckett—"

"I should have been there with you." Her interruption is quiet, but stops him cold. "We should have done this together, Castle. You left me behind without a word and I didn't know if I was ever going to see you again." Her voice cracks on the last few words.

Taking a few steps toward her, he nods, wringing his hands together as he thinks of how to word his response.

"I was off the grid, Kate, I couldn't have you risk your career—"

"My _career_?" Her eyes narrow, and she tries to keep her voice low. "Castle, just _being_ with you is a risk to my career." He recoils at that, his brow furrowing with hurt. "It's worth it to me, Castle. You're worth it. _We_ are worth it."

She walks closer to him, uncrosses her arms, and lays a hand on his chest, whispering, "If you had died over there, it would have destroyed me. Just how you'd have felt if something had happened to Alexis. "

He can't help the tears that start to form in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Kate," he chokes out, "I'm so sorry."

There's a thick feeling in his throat as he looks at her, trying to imagine his life without her in it. It's too much, too overwhelming of a thought, and he tries to blink it away, loosening a tear as he does so.

She wipes it from his cheek with her thumb and wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in the scent of his shirt. "I missed you so much, Rick." He responds by encircling her body with his arms, pulling her against him.

She sighs against his skin. "I love you."

Pulling back to look at her, he cups her jaw in his palm. She wants to never forget the look on his face: regret and sadness and relief, and complete adoration. "I love you, too."

He kisses the smile that forms on her lips, a soft, tender caress that matches the way his fingers lightly stroke her jaw line. With every passing moment is an increasing need to do more…for her, to her. She has to know how much she means to him, how it would absolutely wreck him to break her heart, even if he were too dead to apologize. The years he's spent tearing down that wall, only to betray her trust like this…no. She deserves so much more.

Dropping his hand from her jaw, he pulls back from their kiss and entwines their fingers. Tugging her toward the bed, he guides her onto the comforter, crawling over her as she lays her head against the pillows.

Silently, he pulls at the bottom of her shirt, exposing her smooth expanse of skin as he inches the garment up and over her head, with some assistance from her. He stares down at her as if it's the first time he's seen her like this, and sees the blush rise to the surface of her skin. And still, she just watches, confused but entranced, her eyes still showing pieces of that familiar wall.

He can't help it; he has to touch her. Goosebumps dot her stomach as his fingers hover across her form.

"God, you're beautiful." He presses a kiss right above her bellybutton.

Her shorts are next, and she lifts her hips to help him remove them. Gently, slowly, his lips travel downward from her stomach, his breath and late-day stubble teasing her skin. He worships each thigh, starting from where it joins her hip to where her knees begin, and then he continues down to each ankle and foot.

Her breathing is getting faster, her eyes fluttering shut whenever he touches a sensitive area, and at this point, with all of her skin tingling from his touch, every area feels like a sensitive one.

When he reaches the inside of her thigh on his return trip back up her leg, she hisses and lets out a soft moan, and then his mouth is on her and she gasps.

Her head presses into her pillow as his lips and tongue explore her with equal parts tenderness and ferocity. It's all too much, her primal urges battling with the residual fears and anger over his behavior, but she craves this; her body needs the feel of him, and her mind can't stop the desire for intimacy. The tears leak slowly from the corners of her eyes, her sobs cloaked by her breathless moans.

She tastes like home, his tongue making lazy circles before plunging into her, and while he usually loves to watch what he does to her, he closes his eyes this time, just wanting to feel surrounded by her scent, her texture, the warmth of her hands gripping his hair. One, and then two of fingers enter her, seeking and gently pressing against those special spots he's discovered over time, and she makes her approval known with a tightening of her muscles around those fingers, pulling him even farther inside of her.

Her hips rise and fall, writhing and grinding against his face, seeking and then evading the friction of his skin and tongue. He always loves doing this for his own benefit, but this…this is just for her. The orgasm building inside of her body is welcomed, but he wants—no—_needs_ her to know how he would never do anything to cause her another instant of pain, and how he feels like the luckiest man alive when she lets him taste and please her.

Closing his lips around her clit, he sucks lightly, playing his tongue over the engorged flesh, and she comes with a grunt and an involuntary thrust of her hips, her spasms fluttering against his mouth like butterfly wings.

He calms her with a few light strokes of his tongue until she can't take any more, tugging on his hair to bring him up to face her. His lips are coated in her arousal, and she can taste and smell herself when they kiss.

When the last spasm finally ripples through her, she opens her eyes to find him staring at her, his eyes wet. And as he pulls her into his arms, she knows he'll never leave her again.

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_fin._


End file.
